Belgarath the Sorcerer

by David Eddings

  ‘Nice touch, Pol,’ I congratulated her.

  ‘Just a little more confusion for your Murgo, father. If he believes that Darion, Selana and I all died in the fire, he won’t come looking for us.’

  ‘I’m sure Ctuchik’ll be delighted to hear the news - at least until he goes back and re-reads his prophecies. Then he’ll probably turn our Murgo inside out.’

  ‘Wouldn’t that be a shame?’

  I put the three of them in the back of the cart and covered them with some blankets, and then I drove the cart out into the deserted street. I waited until we’d almost reached the north gate before I set fire to Darion’s shop. I didn’t start a big fire - just a baby one in a back corner. The shop had large stacks of seasoned lumber in it and wood shavings piled up in the corners, so my little fire had plenty to eat. It took a while, but eventually it grew up.

  The gates of Sulturn were unguarded. Sendars tend to be a little relaxed about security measures, so we were able to leave town unnoticed. We were well out of town on the road toward Lake Medalia before a sudden column of flame announced that my baby fire had finally reached adulthood and broken through the roof of Darion’s house.

  As I said earlier, it was mid-autumn, and it was a cloudy, blustery night as I drove the cart north toward Medalia and on beyond that to Darine, where we’d be able to take a ship for Kotu in Drasnia.

  There’s another repetition for you, Garion. Remember the night when we left Faldor’s farm? Except for the turnips, this trip was almost identical.

  It took us perhaps two weeks to reach Darine, largely because we stayed off the main roads, and because I didn’t particularly hurry. I’d learned that from my Master. If you want to stay inconspicuous, don’t make any quick moves. He’d used that disguise many times, and I doubt that anyone had ever remembered him for more than ten minutes after he’d passed.

  When we reached Darine, Darion sold the horse and cart, and we took passage on a Sendarian merchantman bound for Kotu.

  There weren’t any Murgos in Drasnia, but trade along the North Caravan Route had resumed - once the Nadraks recovered from their disastrous adventure on the frontier during the twenty-fifth century - so there were occasional Nadrak merchants in Kotu. Nadraks didn’t concern me as much as Murgos did, but I was still rather cautious. Darion objected when I set him up in business as a wood-carver instead of a cabinet-maker until I explained it to him. ‘If you can make furniture, you can certainly carve wood, Darion,’ I told him. ‘That fellow we evaded back in Sulturn is very likely to tell all his friends everything he found out about you, so a lot of unfriendly eyes are going to be investigating every cabinet shop in the western kingdoms. For your safety, your wife’s, and your Aunt Pol’s, it’s time for you to go into another line of work.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right, Ancient One,’ he agreed glumly.

  ‘Look on the bright side, Darion,’ I told him. ‘You can sell good wood-carvings for almost as much as furniture, and you don’t have to buy as much lumber.’

  I’d also changed their names and bullied Polgara into putting some dye on that conspicuous lock in her hair, although it didn’t really work that well.

  Then I decided that it was time for me to leave Kotu. I can’t even whittle, so my presence in a wood-carver’s shop might have been a little hard to explain. I said good bye and sailed back to Darine. I went on to Muros and sat out the winter there before venturing into Ulgoland. I still wanted to meet the new Gorim, but not so much that I was willing to break my way through twelve-foot snowdrifts for the pleasure of his company.

  I avoided the assorted monsters in Ulgoland the following spring by the usual expedient of going wolf. I suppose I could have gone falcon and flown instead, but there was no particular hurry, and I’m more comfortable as a wolf.

  When I reached the ruins of Prolgu - although Prolgu isn’t really ruined, only abandoned - I went to one particular house, announced my presence, and the Ulgos took me down into their dimly lighted caves and to the house of their new Gorim. The traditional home of the Gorim of Ulgo lies in a gloomy cavern. It’s an oddly truncated, pyramid-shaped house on a small eyot in the center of a shallow lake where small trickles of water fall down from above, echoing through that great cavern with the melancholy sound of eternal regret. I think the regret may be that of UL Himself. The Ulgos have lived in the dark for so long that daylight frightens them and the sun is an agony to their eyes. That island with its marble columns and pale, sunless shore seems more appropriate for a gathering of ghosts than for humans. Add to that the fact that the perpetual echoes in those caves makes it necessary for Ulgos to speak very softly. It makes a visit to Ulgoland much like a vacation in a mausoleum.

  I liked the new Gorim, though. He was a gentle, saintly man, and he and I got on well together. As it turned out, however, I wasn’t the only visitor in Prolgu just then. A fellow named Horban, a member of the Tolnedran diplomatic corps, had arrived a bit earlier. The Second Horbite Dynasty was in power in Tol Honeth, and the persistent rumors that Ulgoland actually had people living in it as well as the monsters had piqued the curiosity of Ran Horb XVI, and he’d sent his cousin Horban to investigate and to explore the possible opportunities for trade. You know how Tolnedrans are.

  ‘He’s woefully uneducated, Belgarath,’ Gorim told me. ‘He has absolutely no sense of what’s really happening in the world. Would you believe that he didn’t even know of the existence of UL when he got here?’

  ‘The Tolnedrans are a worldly people, Holy Gorim,’ I explained. ‘Their Nedra’s the most secular of all the Gods.’

  The Gorim sighed. ‘Truly,’ he agreed. ‘What should we do with this man, Belgarath? All he can talk about is exchanging useless trinkets. He calls it “trade” and it seems to be a part of his religion.’

  I laughed. ‘I suppose you might as well humor him, Gorim. You’ll never get any peace if you don’t. Let the Tolnedrans come to that valley at the foot of your mountain, and then have your people go down there once in a while and exchange a few trinkets with them. If I’m reading the prophecies right, the time’s going to come when we’ll all be fighting Angaraks. The Tolnedran legions are going to be involved, so we’d better let them get used to the idea that you’re here. The discovery of an untapped market might distract them.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said then, ‘before I forget, I have a message for you.’

  ‘A message?’

  ‘From the Seers of Kell.’ He smiled a bit wryly. ‘We’d thought that all connection with our Dallish cousins had been severed long ago, but the Dals aren’t like other people. Eons have passed since our last contacts, but they reminded us that we’re still kinsmen.’

  ‘Are you saying that one of the Seers actually came here to Prolgu? Kell’s half a world away.’

  He shook his head. ‘It was an illusion, Ancient One. The Seers have abilities we cannot even comprehend. I woke up one morning to find a blindfolded man sitting at my table with a huge mute hovering behind him. The blindfolded man told me to advise you that the unification of Mallorea’s nearly complete. The emperors are Angaraks, and their throne’s in Mal Zeth, but the continent’s largely ruled by the bureaucracy in Melcene. Even the Dals are being gathered into the affairs of the Mallorean Empire. The Seer told me to warn you that the time’s coming closer when Torak will come out of his seclusion to resume his old authority.’

  I nodded. ‘We’d more or less worked that out for ourselves. It’s good to have some confirmation, though. We were baffled when Torak didn’t invade right after the assassination of the Rivan King, but the One-eyed God evidently thinks long range. He’s been biding his time at Ashaba, letting the Angarak emperors consolidate their hold on Mallorea. As soon as that’s complete, he’ll take command and mount an invasion.’

  ‘Are you making preparations?’

  ‘My friend, I’ve been making preparations for Torak since the day he cracked the world. I’ve got a few surprises up my sleeve for him.’

  ‘The Seer also t
old me to warn you that Ctuchik’s left Rak Cthol. What can he possibly be up to?’

  ‘He’s looking for Polgara. He’s had his Murgos out scouring the west in search of her for centuries. Apparently the old hound’s going to give it a try himself. You know what she’s doing, don’t you?’

  He nodded. ‘UL keeps me advised.’

  ‘I rather thought he might.’ I frowned. ‘Why are we suddenly getting all this help from the Dals? They’ve maintained a position of strict neutrality since the beginning of time.’

  ‘We must assume that it’s in furtherance of their task. In some way, they’re going to be involved in the final EVENT.’

  I nodded glumly. ‘That’s all I need - somebody else to muddy the waters. They’re muddy enough as it is.’

  I stayed in Prolgu for about a month, and then I went on over to Arendia to look in on several families I’d been watching for centuries. Prophecy being what it is, I probably didn’t need to bother, but I always like to keep an eye on things. Even the best machine breaks down once in a while, and I’m the only mechanic around who knows how to fix this one.

  Following the destruction of Vo Astur, the Mimbrate Duke had proclaimed himself King of all Arendia, but proclamations have very little to do with reality. The Mimbrate ‘royalty’ were little more than puppet kings, their foreign policy dictated from Tol Honeth, and their highways patrolled by Tolnedran legionnaires. They had very little time to brood about that, however. Although the Asturian cities and towns had been destroyed, the Asturian nobility and yeomanry remained intact - although greatly diminished. They simply retreated into their forests and took up archery for fun and profit. They shot at trees; they shot at deer; mostly they shot at Mimbrate tax-collectors. They ate the deer, but they just let the Mimbrates lie where they fell. As you might expect, the Wildantor family participated enthusiastically.

  I looked around a bit and after I’d assured myself that Lelldorin’s family was in the right place and doing more or less what it was supposed to be doing, I bought a horse and went on south toward Vo Mandor.

  It was early summer, and once I got beyond the gloomy stretches of that forest that blankets northern Arendia, traveling was pleasant. The Great West Road simplified matters enormously. The helpful Tolnedrans had even bridged the River Mallerin, so I was able to cross without getting my feet wet.

  The Arendish Fair stood at the juncture of the Great West Road and the high road that skirted the western edges of Ulgoland. The fair had been there since the time of the first Horbite Dynasty, and its position astride the Great West Road meant that it was policed by Tolnedran legionnaires, which sort of kept down the bloodshed. Tolnedrans won’t let anything interfere with commerce, not even an ongoing civil war. I decided that it might not be a bad idea to stop over for a few days to rest my horse and pick up some information.

  The Arendish Fair looked like a temporary collection of brightly-colored tents, but it’d been there for something like a thousand years and was a commercial center rivaling the cattle-fair at Muros in Sendaria. Since I wanted information, I went looking for Drasnians.

  Yes, even back then. The Drasnian intelligence service had been established not long after the Alorn expedition into Nyissa, and, even as today, it relied heavily on merchants. Anytime you see a Drasnian merchant outside the borders of Drasnia itself, you can safely wager that he has some contacts with the intelligence service. He’s interested in making money, of course, but he’s also interested in information. The kings of Drasnia have shrewdly stressed the fact that gathering information is a Drasnian’s patriotic duty, so in most cases the spy-masters in Boktor don’t even have to pay for it. That’s very helpful when it comes time to balance the budget.

  In many ways the Arendish Fair is like a city. It has its shops, its taverns, and even inns for those merchants who don’t want to bother bringing their own tents. It’s laid out like a city, too, with muddy streets and, in much the same fashion as in Muros, various districts. The Tolnedrans who police the fair are wise enough to segregate the races. Doing business with someone you hate is one thing; camping right next to him is something else.

  The Drasnian enclave lay in the northeast quadrant of the fair, so I went there. I didn’t look like a merchant, so the Drasnians seemed to ignore me, but nothing really escapes a Drasnian. Of course, the fact that I was scattering recognition signals like a bridesmaid scattering rose-petals at a wedding might have helped a little, too.

  Eventually, a small, sharp-faced merchant with a long, pointed nose emerged from his tent with a feigned expression of surprise on his face. ‘Garath!’ he exclaimed. ‘Can that really be you? I haven’t seen you in ten years! What are you doing in Arendia?’ His fingers were very busy telling me that he was a professional spy rather than an amateur, and that his name was Khaldan.

  I reined in my horse. ‘Why, strike me blind if it isn’t my old friend Khaldan!’ I said with a certain enthusiasm. I’d never met him in person, but I definitely knew his father, since I had some plans for his family. Ultimately, a marriage between Khaldan’s family and the royal house of Drasnia was going to produce a sharp-nosed little fellow with some rather remarkable talents. Now that I think about it, that sharp-nosed fellow very closely resembled Khaldan, which probably isn’t much of a coincidence, if you stop and think about it.

  ‘Come inside,’ Khaldan invited me. ‘We’ll have a few tankards, and you can tell me what you’ve been up to for all these years.’

  I dismounted and followed him into his tent. ‘Garath?’ I asked him incredulously. ‘Where did you learn about that name?’

  He touched one finger slyly to his nose - evidently a family trait. ‘State secret,’ he replied. ‘The Service knows a great deal about you, Ancient One. How can I help you?’

  ‘It’s nothing very specific, Khaldan,’ I replied. ‘I’m going south is all, and I just stopped by to see if there was anything I ought to know about.’

  He shrugged. ‘Nothing unusual for Arendia, Ancient One.’

  I looked meaningfully at his half-open tent flap.

  ‘Not to worry, Garath,’ he assured me. ‘Nobody’s going to get near my tent who isn’t supposed to. We can talk safely.’

  ‘Maybe, but let’s not bandy that “Ancient One” around too much. Is anything major happening between here and the Tolnedran border?’

  ‘You might want to go around the Barony of Vo Mandor,’ he suggested. ‘The Baron’s having an argument with one of his neighbors just now.’

  I swore.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘He’s the very man I have to see.’

  ‘Stay here for a few weeks, then. It won’t take him very long to finish up. The Mandor family has quite a reputation here in Mimbre. They’re incapable of anything resembling caution, but they’ve been lucky enough so far that they haven’t come up against anything they can’t handle.’

  ‘I know,’ I agreed, ‘and that’s not going to change very much in the foreseeable future. Are there very many Murgos here at the fair?’

  ‘Funny you should ask. I was just going to bring it up myself. A Murgo nobleman of some sort rode into the fair a couple days ago. His rank must be fairly exalted, because the other Murgos are falling all over themselves to do what he asks.’

  ‘Have you picked up his name, by any chance?’

  ‘I have, and it wasn’t by chance. I am a professional, old friend. He calls himself Achak, but I’ve been getting a faint smell of deception there.’

  ‘What’s he look like?’

  ‘Tall, thinner than most Murgos, and he’s got white hair and a long beard that’s kind of yellowish. I don’t think he’s very clean. From what I hear, he smells bad.’

  ‘Well, well, well,’ I said. ‘How very convenient. Now I won’t have to go looking for him.’

  ‘You know him?’

  ‘I’ve known him for centuries. The Gorim of Ulgo told me that he’d come down from Rak Cthol. I’ve been curious about what he’s doing.’

/>   ‘Rak Cthol? You’re not saying that this Achak fellow is Ctuchik, are you?’

  ‘Well, I hadn’t yet, but I’d have gotten to it eventually, I guess.’

  ‘Now that’s a name to reckon with.’ His eyes brightened. ‘Would you like to have him killed?’

  ‘Forget it, Khaldan. You wouldn’t be able to get an assassin near him. Besides, I might need him later on. Is he doing anything here - aside from terrorizing all the Murgos?’

  ‘He’s been holding some extended conferences is about all - Murgos, Nadraks, even a few Thulls. What’s he doing here?’

  ‘He’s looking for something.’

  ‘Oh? What’s that?’

  I slyly touched my nose. ‘State secret,’ I replied, throwing his own clever remark back in his teeth. ‘Where’s the Murgo enclave? I think maybe I’d better go have another little talk with the Disciple of Torak.’

  ‘I’ll send some men along to guard you.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary. Ctuchik’s not here for a confrontation - not with me, anyway. As soon as he finds out that I know he’s here, he’ll probably go back to Rak Cthol where he belongs. Did he come here alone?’

  ‘No. He’s got a Grolim priest with him - a sycophant, obviously. If Ctuchik decides to get belligerent, you’ll be up against two of them, so I’d be a little careful.’

  ‘Numbers don’t really mean all that much to me, Khaldan. Where’s the Murgo enclave?’

  ‘Over on the west side of the fair. Murgos live in black tents, so you can’t miss it.’

  ‘Good.’ I stood up. ‘I’ll be back in a little while.’ I went outside his tent, remounted, and rode on across the fair to the Murgo enclave. ‘You there,’ I said to the first Murgo I encountered. ‘I need to talk with Achak. Where do I find him?’

  ‘Achak doesn’t talk to foreigners,’ he replied insolently.

  ‘He’ll talk to me. Go tell him that Belgarath’s here to see him.’